Served
by underhandlilies
Summary: Kadaj takes a job as a waiter for the summer, both to get a little freedom and overcome his clumsiness. This doesn't seem to work, as he spills a dish on his sole customer. Again...and again...and again. C/K. Belated birthday fic for Cloud.of.Hope.


**Genres: **Friendship and Romance.

**Special Conditions: **Waiter-ating!

**How the Idea was created: **Kadaj just fits as a waiter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Final Fantasy VII or the characters within it. I am gaining no profit from this work of fan-fiction.

**Warnings: **Unconventional pairing, again. VERY much OOC.Klutziness. Spilling things. Poor attempts at humor. Possibly grammatical errors. You haven't been warned, so I will say it again: **VERY VERY OOC.**

**._._._.**

**Served**

**A Spillin' Final Fantasy VII Fan-Fiction**

**._._._.**

The only problem with having straight hair was that it was impossible to keep out of the way.

Kadaj wrinkled his nose up in disgust, staring at himself in the mirror as he fingered his stringy bangs. One hand remained clamped firmly on the sink, where it clenched in irritation.

He hated hair bands. They looked decidedly…girly, he decided. But if he _didn't_ have a hair band on, he knew his hair was going to fly all over the place. So…hair band, or no?

"Crescent!" someone boomed, banging on the door. "Still busy prettying yourself up? It's your go!"

Kadaj closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath as he clenched both hands on the sink rim. The truth was, it wasn't the hair bands he was worried about; it was serving in general. So, getting a job for the summer, away from home, had sounded pretty exciting at first; no overbearing brothers, earning some pay, and 'coming out of his shell', as Yazoo called it. But once it came down to it, Kadaj just _knew _everything was going to go straight down the metaphorical hill.

He hated being around people.

Nothing could be changed now, though. He was already here, he was already in uniform—which, unfortunately, he was still not quite sure of how it looked—and he was going to have to work for the next two months…or, until there was a space open back home.

Taking another deep breath, Kadaj opened the door, breezing past his fellow employee with as much confidence as he could fake.

He could wing it.

._._._.

From an early age, Kadaj had been cursed with delicate features, a graceful, swaying walk, and feet like lead. It was hard to maintain the image of a cool, confident kid when you tripped every five seconds, and so Kadaj simply stopped trying.

They didn't know him yet here; all they saw was the average sulky pretty face. Kadaj hated to admit it, but he did fit what they were looking for.

So, first day on the job, he was assigned to the outdoor part of the café.

His heart fluttering in his throat, Kadaj waited outside. Then he waited in the doorway. Finally, he ended up slumped over in a chair by the window.

No one was coming anytime soon.

Kadaj felt a little prickle of relief, slumping forward. Maybe no one would come and he would get paid for just patrolling. That sounded good.

All of his hopes abruptly ground to a halt at the sight of a man calmly walking down the street, past the café. He made a show of examining the flowers planted outside with a melancholy look, then looked up and down the street.

Kadaj stared at him intently, willing him to move on.

Instead, however, the guy walked slowly over to a table, sliding into a chair, resting his elbows on the table, and began bouncing his leg.

Kadaj was glaring now, but this didn't seem to move the man, who was staring intently at his hands. Finally, his heart pounding, Kadaj slid out of his seat, heading for the door.

As they usually did when he got around people, Kadaj's feet began to get heavy. He could feel the clumsiness coming on. It was taking great effort to arrange each foot in a normal form of walking when one kept getting in the way. It was even harder to concentrate once he had to force a customary smile and do that ridiculous serving pose; _hip out to the side, cheerful look in eyes, and pen on the pad._

"Welcome to Seventh Café, sir," Kadaj said, clearing his throat when his voice trembled. "What's your order?"

The man looked up from his hands. Kadaj swallowed hard for a moment, trying to control the natural urge to shrivel. The Customer, as Kadaj quickly dubbed him, had the slanted, sharp face of a soldier. Two steely blue eyes, though calm and thoughtful, looked up at Kadaj. Blond hair fell in spikes and waves around his face. Kadaj dimly noted that he was dressed entirely in black, from his sweater to his jeans.

A slender blond eyebrow hiked up to the Customer's forehead. Kadaj suddenly realized that he was ogling and tried to suppress the urge to blush. He was altogether flustered now, on his very first serve, and he tried to pull himself together. Just because the Customer was handsome didn't mean that he had to melt for him.

"…dish?" the Customer was looking at him expectantly. Kadaj had zoned out.

"P-Pardon me?" Kadaj hurriedly flipped through the pages of his pad, trying to look like he had been absorbed in finding a blank page.

"The shrimp dish," the Customer repeated, enunciating this time.

Kadaj took his time carefully, neatly writing out the dish. This was going to go in the Customer's pocket afterwards; he wanted it to look nice. "Anything else?"

The man shook his head, and Kadaj rushed back inside. Secretly, he hoped that more customers would come before he had to go out again, so it wouldn't be just the two of them alone; but no such luck. By the time Kadaj came back out, his legs were trembling in a way he hoped couldn't be seen. He didn't dare trying to hold the steaming platter with one hand, but instead clutched it in both hands close to his chest.

As he neared the table, the Customer, who had been staring at his hands again, looked up and caught his eye. He let a slight, quirking smile pull up one side of his mouth in a masculine, unbelievably appealing way.

Kadaj was a foot away from the table.

His brain froze.

He wasn't sure what exactly happened after that. He wanted to blame a loose flagstone, but the floor beneath him was completely smooth. Kadaj should have glided right up to the table, set down the man's tray, and give an appropriately professional smile before gliding away.

Instead, his left shoe turned into the instep of his right foot. As he started to slip, his pants took it upon themselves to further catch up his feet. In a desperate effort to avoid face-planting, Kadaj threw his hands out in an ungraceful way, ending up sprawled over the table.

With dawning horror, he watched the tray of steaming shrimp—almost in slow motion—skid across the table, dangle for a split second over the edge, and then drop…

…right into the Customer's lap.

Kadaj, wide-eyed with horror, just stared. He didn't just mess up with his first customer. He didn't.

The Customer blinked, looking down at the plate in his lap, as if asking how it had gotten there.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" Kadaj blurted, hating how high and panicked his voice sounded. "I-I…I didn't mean…" Finally regaining control of his feet, Kadaj skirted around the table, reaching for the tray in the Customer's lap, then jerking his hands back, then letting them dangle there, uncertain of what to do.

The Customer looked up. His eyes were slightly wide—from the hot shrimp in his lap, no doubt—but his voice was calm.

"Napkin," he said softly.

"What?"

"Napkin," the man repeated, gesturing his hand towards the napkin folded on the table. It was rumpled on the table where Kadaj had spilled the tray.

Hands trembling, Kadaj handed over the napkin, and the man methodically replaced each piece of shrimp on the tray before mopping up his lap. Kadaj shifted uncomfortably, wondering if there was something he should do. At last, the man's head snapped up, studying him, before his face broke out into an unpleasant looking grimace. After a few seconds of horror, Kadaj realized that it was an uncomfortable smile.

"See?" he said, "No harm done."

Kadaj was dead meat.

'No harm done' meant that the manager was going to get a complaint. Kadaj was going to be fired by the end of the day; or by the end of the man's meal. And plus, the shrimp was cold, and probably covered in the man's pant hairs.

Kadaj watched, paranoid, as the man plowed through his meal, and then tentatively slid the bill over to him. The Customer gave it a cursory glance, humming in interest, before he put down the appropriate bills and set to rubbing the large, dark stain on the front of his shirt. Kadaj bit his lip, trying to figure out if he should seal his fate or not, before deciding to talk.

"Aren't…aren't you going to talk to the manager?" he asked hesitantly, resigning himself to his fate.

The guy blinked at him, like he'd asked a stupid question. Then, after a few moments, he reached out and absently patted Kadaj on the head. "Maybe later," he said, in a placating sort of way…and then he just turned around and left.

Kadaj felt like either crying or laughing.

On one hand, the Customer, who Kadaj was rapidly admitting was…pretty cute…had _ruffled his hair. _It was probably because he thought he was a kid, but still.

On the other hand, that very same Customer could probably come to his senses and call the manager on Kadaj's horrid moment of klutziness.

Kadaj spent the rest of the day in a whirlwind of panic, sweeping the sidewalk, scrubbing tables, and chasing pigeons with the wild efficiency of a person who knew they were getting the pink slip. Somehow, dimly, he'd hoped that he could get mad at the mystery man for messing up his future, taking a massive cut out of his future college tuition with his (future) complaint…but he didn't. He couldn't stop thinking about the guy's wavy, spiky hair, his queer smile, his steely, distant eyes…

He tried to distract himself. He honestly did. But, when the day was done, when Kadaj was finally lying in his rented room in his rented bed, he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling and found that he couldn't.

._._._.

The next day, bright and early, Kadaj decided that this would be the last day he'd allow himself to be tripped up in front of a customer. (Both figuratively and literally, of course.)

Really.

This day felt good. Kadaj had opted for a sleeker look; he missed the flair and baggy areas, and, in truth, he felt kind of exposed without them. But if it was if was either that or klutzing around again, he was willing to make small sacrifices.

He'd made a close call the day before, but he knew that today he wouldn't mess up. After all, it was probably a freak sort of thing; he'd never see _that _customer again, and it would all blow over, and everyone would think he was a spectacular waiter, and never know of his horrid mistake. He'd make everyone proud.

At least, that was what he was sure would happen.

Instead, though, Kadaj was horrified to find that after he turned away from watering a plant, that same customer was there—_again. _He was sitting at the same table in the back that he'd been at the day before. His hands were clasped, there was a deep, intent look in his eyes, and he was writing something down in a black notebook.

Kadaj took a moment to slide down behind a potted plant and silently scream about the unfairness of it all. Then he got up, smoothed his hair, and carefully walked over, taking great care of placing his feet one in front of the other in a rather impressive catwalk.

The Customer looked up when Kadaj approached, flashing him a small, distracted smile. Kadaj tensed up for a moment, but the guy didn't seem to recognize the kid who'd knocked shrimp over on him the day before, so Kadaj tried to lighten up.

"Welcome back, sir!" Kadaj said, fumbling with the edge of his paper. "May I take your order, please?"

The Customer shifted, chewing on his bottom lip. Kadaj caught a brief flash of a nametag, and wrinkled his nose. Cloud Strife, huh? Sounded like a bad romance hero. Then again, 'Kadaj' wasn't exactly normal either.

For a moment, the Customer—Mr. _Strife_, Kadaj hastily corrected himself—seemed to zone out, losing himself in the black notebook, before looking up again.

"Something saucy," he said absently, waiting for Kadaj to write it down. "And some water, please."

Kadaj was exceptionally careful this time. The chef recommended some sort of casserole, so now Kadaj was carrying out his creation…which was quite pretty, if he had to admit it. The water was easily poured into a tall glass, and an ice cube and straw later, Kadaj was outside.

This time, it was going to be flawless, Kadaj assured himself, still keeping up his catwalk. He was going to place the casserole carefully in front of Mr. Strife, put the glass a little to the side, give a professional smile, and continue doing the catwalk until he could collapse inside.

Once again, it didn't go as planned.

Kadaj was so busy imagining his perfect serve, he forgot to keep track of what was going on with his feet. His right foot, apparently, was thinking what he was, and was happily continuing to march neatly forward. The left foot, however, seemed to be on a rebellious frame of mind, and decided to suddenly trip over thin air.

Kadaj was only alerted to this when he suddenly pitched forward.

Realizing in quickly dawning horror that an exact repeat of yesterday's events were happening _all over again, _Kadaj tried to put the casserole on the table before he face-planted. The dish clipped the table…

…only to tip over and splatter half the contents all over his front.

Cloud Strife blinked, looking up from his mysterious black notebook at Kadaj. Kadaj, meanwhile, had the plate sandwiched between his chest and the table, frozen staring up in horror at Cloud, waiting for what he would say.

Cloud didn't say anything. His mouth pulled into a little, confused frown.

"Your water, sir," Kadaj finally whispered, reaching up one, trembling hand with the unharmed glass. It was the only thing he could think of doing.

Cloud accepted the water, putting it safely away at his left arm. It was the exact same place Kadaj had been planning to place it.

Kadaj suddenly, inexplicably, felt like bursting into tears. The corners of his mouth were tugging downwards already, and he began blinking rapidly, when the customer started to speak.

"Thank you," Mr. Strife said, and then paused. He reached out a hand, hefting Kadaj to his feet, while tugging back his half-a-dish with the other hand. "I didn't want that much anyway."

Kadaj blinked again, this time in bewilderment. He stood there, just watching, as Cloud cleaned his plate and gently took the bill from Kadaj's frozen fingers.

"Thank you," the man repeated, a half-smile on his face, and he turned to go.

Kadaj didn't know what to do. "W-Wait!"

Cloud turned.

"A-Aren't you going to tell the manager?" Kadaj asked, horribly confused.

Cloud blinked, and then cocked his head with a frown, staring at Kadaj's ruined shirt. He picked up the napkin from the table, folding Kadaj's fingers around it.

"It's fine," was all he vaguely said, and then he turned and left.

Kadaj ended up not using _that _particular napkin, but instead half the tissues in the bathroom. That napkin, even though it was probably common thievery, was folded very neatly in Kadaj's pocket. Kadaj didn't know why, but he didn't quite have the heart to send it out with the rest of the laundry.

It didn't matter, though. Mr. Strife was probably still going to tell the manager about him.

Sometime or other.

._._._.

The next day, Kadaj's work ethic was just to get things done. Every section of the outdoor café was polished until it sparkled. Not a pigeon was in sight. The plants had been watered, the flowerpots weeded, and new napkins and menus were on each table. When he was sweeping out between the tables, the manager clapped him on the shoulder, and told him that he was doing an absolutely fine job.

Kadaj was practically on cloud nine.

Of course, every bubble has to pop. Kadaj's needle, as it was, came when he was sweeping around the back tables.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Kadaj half turned, a smile already on his face and his mouth open to tell them to wait a moment.

Then he froze.

Cloud Strife was standing there, looking as awkward as usual. Instead of a delivery jacket, which was draped over one arm, he was wearing a pair of workpants, another sweater, and a small smile.

The main problem, though, was that he was actually _back_, at the same restaurant, waiting for assistance from the guy who spilled something on him _twice_.

Kadaj stared at him.

"I'd like to order something with noodles," Cloud said, settling himself into his regular chair. "Maybe cheese, too."

Kadaj nodded dumbly, managing a nervous smile as he wrote it down on his pad, before marching stiffly away.

The chef interpreted noodles and cheese to be macaroni and cheese, which he piled graciously onto a plate. Kadaj took it gingerly by the edges, resuming his stiff soldier walk to the table. This time, he made it all the way up to Cloud, leaning around him to put the plate right in front of him on the table. Nothing could possibly happen when he was right _behind _Mr.Strife, could it?

He hadn't quite counted on Mr. Strife's hair, though.

The spikes, waves, and curls that looked deceptively soft from a distance were, in fact, very soft…and very unaware of personal space. The minute Kadaj leaned in with the plate, they were all up in his face, exploring his mouth, eyes, and his nose. Tickled beyond an inch of his life, Kadaj sneezed.

His balance momentarily lost, the plate tipped. A steady waterfall of hot cheese and noodles began pouring into the customer's lap; Kadaj shrieked, slamming the plate down on the table, before smacking both hands over his mouth.

Cloud didn't look as surprised as he should've been to have a pile of noodles in his lap. Instead, unbelievably calmly, he began scooping them up into his napkin, leaving a little mountain of noodles beside his plate, before just beginning to eat. It looked almost as if nothing had happened, except that Kadaj could _see _the large, cheesy stain all over his previously nice sweater.

After Cloud had finished, Kadaj wordlessly handed him the bill, looking anywhere but at him. He jumped when Cloud's fingers pried his apart, placing the money directly in his palm. Instead of saying anything, he just shot another mysterious, small smile, before Cloud placed his hands in his thoroughly ruined pockets and walked away.

Kadaj took a moment to relish the red hot jealousy at the easy walk, closing his eyes and biting the inside of his cheek. Then, bitter and his mouth tasting funny, he looked down at his hand.

Mr. Strife had left a tip.

._._._.

Kadaj's life didn't get better. It seemed like the only customer he was serving, day after day, was just one Mr. Strife, who wore dark sweaters and dark jeans, and seemed to like to sit at the back tables and put in vague food requests. Every day, rain or shine, that same table, right in the back.

Every day, _just _Kadaj serving him.

Kadaj was beginning to think that the entire arrangement was unfair. It almost seemed like something wanted him to return home in complete shame to his family; except that it _wasn't, _all at the same time.

He didn't stop spilling things on Cloud Strife, either. One day it was a glass of juice, another day some sort of fancy dessert; anything that could possibly be spilled. Kadaj's carefully practiced customer welcome went from cheerfully chirped to a melancholy mumble. Straightened shoulders slumped into a petulant slouch. Instead of getting a good night's sleep in his rented bed, Kadaj sat in his rented corner, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to decide what was wrong with him.

The night he spilled the fancy dessert, Kadaj had sat down in the corner and pulled off his shoes, carefully pulling his foot to an inch of his face, and then comparing it to the other foot. It didn't look bigger. It didn't look any more awkward. Was it something else? Could someone be chronically clumsy?

Who knew?

Every morning, Kadaj lay curled up in bed, propped up against the headboard and hugging his extra pillow, wishing that he didn't have to go in to work. But, unfortunately, there was nothing he could do but sigh and get ready for another humiliating day.

._._._.

Mr. Strife arrived, sitting at his regular table in the back. Kadaj quietly drifted over, hovering over him, and waiting until a slight shift of movement indicated that the man was ready to order.

"Welcome back to Seventh Café, sir," Kadaj said, almost silently. "What would you like to order?"

"Just a coffee, please," Cloud said pleasantly.

Kadaj couldn't help it; his head snapped up, eyes wide. A _coffee? _Hadn't he been paying attention? All of the things Kadaj served him ended up in his _lap_. Kadaj wasn't an idiot. A lapful of scalding coffee would _definitely_ call for at _least_ a lawsuit.

Kadaj swallowed hard. "Are you…sure, sir?"

Cloud nodded, the calm smile still in place. Kadaj turned, tripping twice, and hurried to the kitchen. Kadaj didn't drink coffee, but he tried his best to follow the recipe and hope that it would work. Trembling from his hair to his toes, he walked the slowest he'd ever walked in his life.

He'd gotten to the door, eyes still riveted on the coffee, when he rammed into someone.

Looking up, Kadaj was horrified—again —to discover Cloud standing in front of him. As he usually did in such situations, he froze.

Cloud carefully pried the coffee out of Kadaj's limp hand, transferring it to his left hand before gently taking Kadaj's wrist again.

"Come with me," he said, and without waiting for any response, he began gently towing Kadaj behind him. Kadaj stumbled along, weaving numbly through the chairs.

Cloud eventually slowed. "Sit," he said, and gently tugged Kadaj forward. Kadaj obligingly bent his legs, allowing himself to be pressed into a chair at Cloud's regular table. Cloud sat down next to him.

This was it. This was the part where Cloud told him, in advance, just to be mean, that he was telling Kadaj's manager. He would tell Kadaj this first, torture him with it for a few days, and then just end it all. Kadaj squeezed his eyes shut, his heart fluttering. For some reason, the idea of Cloud doing it was so much worse than it being some other random customer.

Kadaj raised his chin, chancing a glance at Cloud. He jumped a little when he noticed that Cloud's attention was completely focused on him, as he sipped idly from the coffee cup.

"Do you get nervous, when you have to serve?" Cloud finally asked.

Kadaj hadn't been expecting that question. "W-What?" he choked, his hands fisting in the knees of his pants.

"Do you get nervous, when you have to walk in front of someone else?" Cloud repeated, leaning forward a little more. "Do you constantly feel like you have to be perfect for someone, or something bad will happen?"

Kadaj stared at him, his entire body frozen in permanent flinch. What kind of person was the Customer—a shrink? Still, though…

Kadaj finally broke his gaze away, looking down at the pavement. It wouldn't hurt. He was going to be fired, anyways.

"When I was little," he began, softly, "I used to be pigeon-toed. I never noticed or knew or anything, but Mother did. I never outgrew it. Mother was disappointed." He glanced up briefly, and then quickly back down. "That's it."

He jumped a little when Cloud leaned forward a little, the tips of his fingers tapping against Kadaj's curiously. "Is that it?"

Kadaj didn't look up, eyes fixated on their touching fingers. "Yes, sir."

"You're lying."

Kadaj's head snapped up, eyes narrowed in a glare. "Okay. So I'm not pigeon-toed, I'm just clumsy. I can't help it, and it gets even worse when I'm around people." So saying, he got up, prepared to make a sweeping, grand exit, only to get his feet tangled up in the chair legs and sprawl over the table. Thoroughly humiliated, he quietly rearranged himself, not looking up again.

To his great surprise, Cloud didn't scoff or scorn at him…though, of course, Kadaj should've been used to that by now. Instead, he softly offered, "That sounds like being nervous around people to me." The fingers crept up to Kadaj's knuckles.

Kadaj swallowed hard. "I'm not nervous around people." His heart was practically in his throat. Was he saying something wrong? What was a good excuse for suddenly leaving the table? "Really," he whispered, trying very hard to keep from jerking his hands away from Cloud's.

Cloud sighed, removing his hands completely. Kadaj hurriedly retracted his own into a stiff fold in his lap.

"You shouldn't worry so much about what other people think about you," Cloud said, reaching for his coffee again.

_I don't, _Kadaj thought weakly.

"Just relax." Cloud's voice was still calm. "Don't worry too much about what your feet are doing. They're a part of your body, and they'll do what you want them to. You have to trust your own two feet to keep you standing." A brief sip from the coffee. "If people are staring, let them. Your goal is different from theirs, and even if you trip up in front of them…it doesn't matter."

Kadaj had coiled himself up in his seat, falling back on the old-teenage-ploy of 'don't pay attention, and eventually they'll forget about you', but he finally chanced a sullen look up. He was expecting a knowing, self-superior sneer, maybe, or complete disinterest.

Instead, he froze when he realized that the look in Cloud's eyes was completely, sincerely honest.

"Keep the change," Cloud murmured, pressing the bills for the coffee into Kadaj's palm. He flashed him a blindingly bright grin before he was back out on the street.

Kadaj blinked, still sitting there clutching the pay for the coffee.

._._._.

Cloud was probably some well-known shrink, Kadaj decided. He was a well-known shrink who'd chosen to come to the island of his own free will, probably for summer vacation.

Because Cloud's advice was, miraculously, working.

Kadaj couldn't comprehend why. It was the same type of thing that he told _himself _when he woke up in the morning…but maybe in a less self-depreciating manner.

Whatever it was, Kadaj's feet of lead had been replaced with pebbles.

Sure, he still tripped around every once and awhile. That didn't change at all, unfortunately. His foot would suddenly skip over an invisible obstacle, sending him down a flight of stairs, or slipping right when serving to Mr. Strife…but when he took the moment to concentrate to the core of his feet, calibrating them to the rest of his body, he actually discovered that it helped. He walked a lot easier.

And as a result, he stopped spilling things.

Well, he didn't spill as _much. _But it was a big head-start.

Mr. Strife arrived again, sat at his usual table, and ordered, as usual, the messiest thing that he could think of. Kadaj got the chills halfway to the table, lifted up one foot—

—and frowned, gently putting the foot down. He took a deep breath. Feet connected to his mind, huh?

Kadaj closed his eyes a moment, concentrating on his feet. When he opened them, he was disappointed that he didn't feel the same static electricity he had the times before…but he kept walking anyway.

Surprisingly, he reached the table with no unnecessary, embarrassing issues. He even did the little flourish thing—the one that always managed to make something plop in Cloud's lap—without incident.

Cloud's face shared no comment, but Kadaj glowed all the rest of the day.

After that, it only got easier. Kadaj didn't spill anything on Mr. Strife the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Mr. Strife didn't seem to pay much attention to him when he wasn't being spilled on, though, which was a little disappointing.

Until, one day, Mr. Strife ordered a coffee again. When Kadaj carefully carried it over, Cloud caught his wrist, pulling him down into the seat over. Kadaj almost stumbled—almost—and complied, folding his hands nervously in his lap. Cloud gave him such a warm smile, though, that his clasp loosened. Just a bit.

"So. What do you like to do?" Cloud asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Kadaj told him, no tripping or stumbling. He told him about loving to draw, but not wanting to go to art school. Little things slipped out; his brothers, how they all had something they wanted to do or were excelling at; his love for cooking, which was how he'd landed at the restaurant in the first place; how he was staying for the summer. Mr. Strife turned out to be a good listener, though he made Kadaj a little nervous with his even gaze.

Cloud Strife paid for the bill and left, but he came back the day after, and the day after that. Each day, he tugged Kadaj down into the seat next to him, and they talked. Well, Cloud not so much, but Kadaj eventually got him to talk back a little. 'I run a delivery service' seemed to be his one vital piece of information, but other little things wormed their way in there. He'd been in the army, though he hadn't seemed to _want _to talk about that; he was here for a vacation from the business, as Kadaj had suspected.

Kadaj went home every single evening, lay down in his rented bed, and winced over how stupid he'd sounded. Every time, he tried to make what he was going to say a little better. It never changed.

Cloud started smiling more. Kadaj smiled right back. The little world of the café kept revolving and revolving around them, basking in the glow of just-possibly-maybe-a-crush.

And then, the crash came.

._._._.

It had been an ever so perfect morning; the perfect day for disaster. Kadaj had foregone the ponytail holder for a simple black ribbon, which he admired for far too long in the mirror to be considered 'straight' behavior. He smiled at the customers, didn't mutter anything derogatory about his employees, and didn't trip.

Not once.

The outdoor section of the café was actually crowded for once, and Kadaj was busy bringing and taking away orders, so much so that he almost didn't have a chance to breathe. It still wasn't too much, though, to keep glancing over at Cloud's regular table.

It was empty.

A kid spilled juice all over his sister. Napkin. A lady wanted bread with her dish. It was there in minutes.

All the while, Kadaj waited anxiously for Cloud's arrival.

When Cloud finally settled into his seat, Kadaj quickly rushed over, eager to see him again. Cloud spotted him coming and smiled; Kadaj gave him a full-blown grin back. He reached the table—

—and froze.

Sitting where Cloud usually tugged _him _to sit was someone else, another man. He looked to be about Cloud's age, with slicked back, almost white-blond hair. He was dressed immaculately in white, his face smooth and relaxed, but he held himself like he was of great importance. He was the polar opposite of Cloud, who was slouching over in his seat, dressed in black as usual.

Kadaj's eyes flicked from the newcomer to Cloud, confused.

Cloud shifted a little uncomfortably, though his smile was still as warm as ever. "Kadaj," he said, "This is Rufus Shinra. He's a close acquaintance of mine. Rufus, this is a friend."

'Rufus Shinra' gave Kadaj a cursory up-down glance, lingering on the loosening ribbon in his hair. Self-conscious, Kadaj began fiddling with the ends, trying to tuck them behind his ears.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shinra," he said. He could feel himself closing up, and tried to pull himself a little straighter. Just because the guy was staring didn't mean he wouldn't do his job. He forced a smile, opening his pad.

"What would you like to order, sirs?"

Cloud glanced at Rufus, in a way that clearly meant he would wait for his call. Rufus pursed his lips.

"Tomato soup, please."

Kadaj tried to swallow, eyeing Rufus's pristine white suit. Tomato soup would cause a massive stain…but no negative thoughts. He didn't trip anymore.

Kadaj smiled nervously, writing down the order and moving on to the next table. He still wasn't sure why this was giving him such a bad feeling, but he went with it.

The chef served the two bowls with a sprig of something green on the top. Kadaj accepted the tray, turning down the offer of a cart. He could do this just fine, he was sure of it.

It was suddenly a long walk to Cloud's table. Cloud and the other guy, Rufus, were in deep conversation, and Cloud looked decidedly very uncomfortable now. He shifted, biting out something before fiddling with the menu. Rufus's sharp eyes watched him for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, they snapped up to meet Kadaj's.

Kadaj swallowed the growing anxiety in his throat, quietly making his way over to the table. Glancing over the arrangements, he decided to serve from Cloud's side. As he moved around, he caught some significant look exchanged between the two men—he wasn't sure what.

Cloud's bowl was set down neatly, without any incident. Cloud smiled at him, and Kadaj's heart lightened a bit. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Kadaj began to move around the back towards Rufus; the fleeting thought crossed his mind that maybe, just _maybe, _he should just slide the bowl towards the table. He quietly made a move to.

The look on Rufus's face, however, was clearly disapproving of this. Gulping, Kadaj picked it, and just tried to go around and put it on his side of the table. Still moving, he reached forward to place the bowl in front of Rufus and breeze on past.

Then, the nearly impossible happened.

Kadaj _tripped. _

Well, maybe in this situation, _slipped _was the more appropriate word. Kadaj's foot slid forward suddenly—maybe because there was a puddle there, or something, he didn't know—and his other foot followed. Kadaj was looking up at the blue sky and the umbrella over the table as he fell backwards.

_I'm going to die, _he thought. _I'm going to snap my neck and break my back and die right here._

Except…he didn't.

Instead, possibly even worst, he landed—hard—right on Cloud's lap. As he slid forward, strong arms wrapped around him from behind; but he was too occupied with what was going on in front of him to be mortified.

The tomato soup that he had been carrying was falling, almost in slow motion, towards Rufus's very white, very pristine lap.

_Please no, _Kadaj pleaded to whoever was listening. _Mr. Strife doesn't seem to mind, but _please _let this not be happening._

It didn't seem like anyone was listening, though.

_SPLAT._

The soup had just barely settled before Rufus had leapt out of his seat, swearing and huffing. A bright red stain was steadily spreading across the front of his pants. Apparently this was a bad thing, because the huffs turned into howls that started attracting attention. Kadaj idly, weakly was glad that Rufus wasn't a lady, otherwise this situation would be so much worse than it already was.

Kadaj realized that he was currently 'spilled' on Cloud's lap—he could feel hot breath tickling his ear, and he wanted nothing more than to get away. Maybe Rufus would be as nice as Mr. Strife had been, and just let it go with a tip and a gentle inspiration.

When Rufus looked up, however, his eyes scalding, Kadaj's hopes took a nosedive.

"This," he said, his words a bare hiss, "Is a _Tuesti_ suit, custom-made by Tuesti _himself_. Do you have any _inkling _of what it cost me?"

Kadaj meekly shook his head, heart pounding.

Rufus's eyes narrowed to slits, and he leaned in so close Kadaj could smell the tomatoes. "You couldn't even figure it," he whispered harshly, and then he abruptly spun away, stalking through the tables.

Uh-oh.

"Wh-Where are you going?" Kadaj asked, finally pushing away from Cloud's arms.

Rufus turned, narrowing his eyes as he whipped his jacket off, tying it around his waist.

"To tell the manager."

._._._.

It had only taken Kadaj a few moments of horror before he was rushing after Rufus. His ceased clumsiness caught up with him now, as he clipped everything in his path—a table, a chair, someone's leg. He smashed into a kid and was going down, but someone tugged him up, and he was hurrying forward again. Ahead of him, he could see Rufus standing stiffly, arms crossed, his lips in a thin, disapproving line. The manager, who was facing him with a false apologetic look on his face, turned and glowered at Kadaj.

Kadaj almost—_almost _—turned tail and ran. Instead, squeezing his hands into fists, he walked stiffly over—tripping twice. It seemed his good luck was up.

"—and your _clumsy _excuse for a waiter spilled your soup all over it," Rufus spat. "Not that the soup looked very good in the first place."

The manager winced subtly. "I assure you, sir, you _will _receive proper compensation for your suit. This has never happened before, however; Kadaj is usually an exceptional waiter."

Kadaj fought the urge to squirm as the edges of Rufus' mouth tilted upwards into a bared grimace. "_Really?" _he said. "I've heard that he's spilled several expensive dishes on a customer—_several _times."

"That customer has never filed a complaint."

"He doesn't need to. He's right here." Rufus reached out behind Kadaj, tugging Cloud to his side. Cloud looked even more uncomfortable now, but he still met Kadaj's wide-eyed gaze with an even one. "Isn't that right, Strife?"

Cloud shifted. "Yes."

"Were any of your clothes ruined by this clumsy _oaf_ as well?"

Cloud hesitated. "Yes, I have had several clothes ruined."

"And you didn't tell the manager, why?"

Cloud's gaze still remained on Kadaj's. "I didn't want him to get in trouble." He finally said.

Kadaj's heart shattered. That was it. He didn't want Kadaj to get in trouble; that was the only reason he'd ever done anything. Kadaj's gaze fell to the floor, not knowing how this could possibly get any worst.

"This is unacceptable." The manager fixed his collar subtly. "I might have been able to excuse this before, but not anymore. I'm not sure if this problem has continued or not; we cannot take the risk of losing more customers. I'm sorry, Kadaj, but we're letting you go. Go and get your things."

And it just did.

._._._.

Kadaj only had a backpack there with him, so he quietly gathered his things from where he'd left them lying around; jacket, hat, extra pair of shoes…his hair band was sitting on the sink in the restroom, and he stared at it for a moment before collecting it. Carefully, he unthreaded the ribbon, and tucked both in his pocket. It seemed a day for hanging hair.

He left out the back, so he wouldn't have to see Rufus and his ruined suit anymore. Not to mention Cloud.

It was only once he reached his rented room that Kadaj began to worry about what he was going to do. The job was all he'd been planning for the summer. He'd been where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to do.

Now what?

He probably wouldn't be able to get another job at a restaurant. He wasn't a well-known cook. Nothing dealing with art was really on the island that would be interested in him. Kadaj worried his lower lip. With the way things were going, he was just going to have to go home.

Kadaj buried his face in his hands, sighing.

At least he'd gotten his paycheck.

Everything was quietly put in order. Kadaj packed his one measly suitcase, made his bed, and returned his key. Taking one last look around the place, he stepped out the door—

—and right into something.

"I'm sorry," Kadaj immediately began to say, trying to pull away from the person. Then he looked up and froze.

Cloud Strife was standing in front of him, hand in his left pocket. His right hand was still awkwardly supporting Kadaj on the shoulder.

Finally, Kadaj gingerly reached up, taking Cloud's hand and pulling it gently off his shoulder. His entire face flushed—because, even if he didn't want to see Cloud, that was still pretty rude—and he quickly turned, trying to leave.

Except that Cloud didn't seem to want him to leave. He caught Kadaj's shoulder and pulled him right back around, so Kadaj was between the wall of the building and Cloud's arms. Kadaj brought his suitcase up in front of his chest protectively, his heart racing.

"How did you know I was here?" Kadaj muttered, looking at his feet.

In front of him, Cloud shrugged. Kadaj could actually feel the shift through his shoulder, and he curled up a little more into himself.

"You left behind your contact information," Cloud said matter-of-factly, leaning in even closer. Kadaj's hands curled up in front his chest, his eyes widening, but all Cloud did was frown, brushing at Kadaj's messy hair.

"What do you want?" Kadaj finally asked. He was a little tired of the entire thing; spilling and being spilled. This time, he wasn't going to just spill everything to a random stranger.

Cloud frowned, apparently thinking a little, and then sighed. "I wanted to talk."

Kadaj stared at the pavement. Somewhere overhead, a seagull cried, circling back towards the ocean.

"I'm sorry that you lost your job. Rufus is…" he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "Rufus is unpredictable. I shouldn't have told him that you spilled my food on me regularly; that was asking for trouble."

Kadaj nodded, hugging his bag now. "Yeah. It's okay, though. I'm just…going back home." He made a face. "To Mother."

Cloud caught the unhappy look and laughed. Before Kadaj could do anything, he took Kadaj's nose—and a good amount of his hair—in-between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing as he wiggled it. Kadaj immediately slapped his hands away, scowling as he held his nose.

"I'm sorry," Cloud apologized, though he looked anything but sorry. "You just looked cute then."

Kadaj tried, very, very hard, to control his blush. That stupid feeling wasn't going to work on him anymore. He was over it. Try as he might, though, he couldn't quite control the happy, annoying skip of his heart.

Cloud had used that as an opportunity to take even more of Kadaj's personal space, and he was now twirling a strand of Kadaj's hair around his finger, a grin on his face. What'd happened to quiet, reserved Mr. Strife?

"You know," he said, his voice dropping—just a pitch—"I've always liked you, a lot. I think your clumsiness is actually kind of cute. So, what do you say?"

Say to what? Kadaj swallowed, summoning all the spunk he contained. "Who are you, and what did you do with Mr. Strife?"

Cloud froze, and, quite suddenly, two pink blotches of his own appeared high up on his cheeks. He laughed, pulling away a little. "I'm sorry. That was weird, wasn't it?"

Kadaj, against his will, smiled cautiously. "Yes. It was."

He hesitated. Even with the very weird, scary ask-out that Cloud had just said…Kadaj liked Cloud in turn. A lot. He wasn't about to just give him a kiss, though. The thought made him blush to his toes.

Instead, he stood up on his toes, gingerly brushing his lips against Cloud's ear.

Almost immediately, he regretted it, and turned red as Rufus's tomato soup. Cloud's face had turned red, too, but he was smiling. He leaned forward and Kadaj flinched, bringing up his hands.

"I'm not ready for any of that yet," Kadaj muttered by way of explanation. Cloud grinned, tilting his head and leaning into Kadaj. Kadaj squinched his eyes shut, and was surprised when he felt Cloud's lips running down his ear, where he playfully nibbled until Kadaj swatted him away, face burning. He relaxed, though, when Cloud grabbed him close for the first time. Kadaj wrapped his arms around him and breathed in deep.

"Since you don't have a job anymore," Cloud rumbled from above and around him, "And you obviously don't want to go home just yet; why don't you come and work with me?" Seeing the withering look that Kadaj was giving him, he quickly amended, "In the delivery company. They're always looking for new delivery boys, and the pay is really good."

Kadaj considered. He'd be away from Mother for a little while longer. Delivery…well, it wasn't what he wanted to do, but it wasn't like he had a choice right now. Besides; he could search while he was working his new job.

He looked up at Cloud and, tentatively, smiled.

._._._.

A few moments later, Cloud's arm slung around his shoulders, Kadaj was bustled through the crowd. He clutched his suitcase tightly, somehow glad that he was with a large group of people. Even if this crush for Cloud was coming through, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

As it turned out, Cloud's stay on the island was ending anyway. This day would've been his last at the restaurant; and if Kadaj hadn't messed up, he mused, he'd probably still be at the restaurant.

He still wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

Right now, though, as they chose a seat on the top of the ferry, Kadaj just went with whatever was thrown his way. He allowed Cloud to smoosh him right up against the railing and sling his arm over him. He curiously peered around at the coastline. When he got cold, he was embarrassed when Cloud gallantly removed his jacket and draped it around his shoulders, completely with a stoic, old-time charm.

When the ride became too long, he even trusted Cloud enough to fall asleep, head nestled between the crook of Cloud's shoulder and arm. All Cloud did was zip the jacket up, pulling the sleeping teen a little closer.

It wasn't a lot…but it was a long way from the clumsy teen and curious customer it had began with,

It was a start.

._._._.

_fin._

_._._._._

**A/N: **So completely late that I almost dare not post it. I still couldn't edit out all the horrible inconsistencies and grammatical errors in here, so if anyone's read this, I don't mind if you point out any I've made. I'll probably catch them better in the morning…

So, **HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FAERIE! **:D I hope you enjoy it, as late as it is! *chu* There's an ironic twist of fate concerning ME posting a friend's birthday fic TODAY, so I will laugh and leave everyone else completely oblivious.

*laughs*

I listened to so many different versions of "Simple and Clean" while writing this… ._.

_Special Thanks: __**ShadesofImagination**__ for the déjà vu moment in which we both decided Kadaj should be a waiter and telling me to let them know each other before Cloud carries him off. __**hypnoticaa**__ for giving me characterizing tips. __**Tobirion**__ for…Super Junior pictures and info. _


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